


Laundry Day

by garbage_dono



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Caspar von Praise Kink, Established Relationship, Hand Jobs, M/M, There's No Tag For That, Trans Caspar von Bergliez, Trans Male Character, Vaginal Fingering, caspar's inner monologue is a delight, washing machine sex, which is probably for the best
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-23
Updated: 2020-02-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:47:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22855711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/garbage_dono/pseuds/garbage_dono
Summary: “'Fuck, Lin,” he sighed, calves squeezing against Linhardt’s hip bones as Linhardt sank further between his legs. As far as he could until he hit the edge of the washing machine at least. Right. Washing machine. Because they were fucking on top of theirwashing machine.How was he supposed to do laundry ever again after this?
Relationships: Caspar von Bergliez/Linhardt von Hevring
Comments: 11
Kudos: 198





	Laundry Day

**Author's Note:**

> don't look at me like that. the discord made me do it.
> 
> Caspar is a trans dude in this fic - it's a headcanon I've had pretty much since I first played the game but I never integrated it into a fic until now. Not a lot of detail is put into description of genitals - the word "cock" is used since I kinda hc that would be Caspar's preference, but of course experiences vary. :D

Caspar wasn’t a fan of laundry day at the best of times. All the loading and unloading, up and down the steps to re-start the dryer when it inevitably left their sheets damp, folding all of Linhardt’s many, many, _many_ different pairs of fuzzy socks – it wasn’t exactly _hard,_ but it was far from Caspar’s favorite chore. Give him a dish to wash any day. But it was his week to do the laundry, and he wasn’t about to let it fall by the wayside. Besides, if he didn’t take care of it now, he’d wind up without any clean underwear for the week, and that wouldn’t be fun for anyone. Himself included.

So he loaded up the washer with the first load of many – the heavy comforter off their bed that Linhardt positively could _not_ sleep without was top priority – and slammed the lid down hard as he could muster.

It popped back up, the edge of the comforter peeking out under it. Just to spite him.

Caspar groaned. “Aw, come _on._ ” He pressed down on the lid, hoping for the telltale click of the latch catching, but it wouldn’t budge. Of course their damn landlord had splurged on the most _economically_ sized washer for the unit. Caspar yearned for the day he could throw all their clothes in one load and be done with it. But alas, the damn thing couldn’t even handle their comforter without looking like an over-stuffed suitcase.

Well, nothing to do for it but get creative, he figured, and he hopped up on top of the washer and plopped his behind right down on the lid, and-

_Click!_

Perfect.

“Take _that,_ ya pint-sized washing machine,” he said with a grin, as he reached over to press the start button.

Still, he knew it was a short-lived victory. On top of being tiny, the washing machine also had a halfway busted latch to begin with, prone to popping open halfway through the spin cycle. So Caspar figured there wasn’t much use going anywhere for a bit. He may as well keep the damn thing closed under his own power.

He’d just gotten himself engrossed in a new game of Solitaire on his phone when Linhardt popped his head around the corner, eyebrow arching. “Washing the comforter?” he asked, knowingly.

“Uh-huh.”

“I wonder if we push that ridiculous washing machine down the stairs…do you think we’ll get a replacement?”

Caspar shrugged. “Doubt it,” he said. “Probably just wind up losing our security deposit and then having to go down to the laundromat every week anyway.”

“As if we didn’t already lose our deposit when you left a dent in the bathroom wall the first week we lived here.”

“Hey, how was I supposed to know the floor would get that slippery without a bathmat? When was the last time _you_ thought about buying a bathmat, huh? Nobody every taught me you had to buy bathmats when you moved into a new apartment-“

“Which reminds me…we should probably also wash the bathmat.”

Caspar groaned. “ _Liiin…_ ”

“It can probably wait a bit,” Linhardt said with a placating little smile as he strode over. He leaned against the washing machine, pressing a kiss to the corner of Caspar’s mouth. “Forgive me for not keeping you company while you valiantly sit here and try and keep the comforter from making a break for it, but I’m going to catch a nap.”

“You mean you don’t wanna wait for the blankets to come out of the dryer? I know you like them all nice and toasty.”

“Mm…that’ll be at least a few hours, and I’m fading as it is. I’ll pull back the blinds – a nice sunbeam will be _toasty_ enough.” He shot Caspar a smirk. “Godspeed for the rest of laundry day, Caspar.”

“Uh-huh.”

Godspeed. Like he’d be going anywhere anytime soon, speedy or no. He was sure to be stuck here at least until this load was done, and if he was lucky he could get away with leaving the next one unattended. For now, though, he accepted his fate.

So he sat there, perched on the corner of the washing machine, alternating between staring at his phone and counting the lines in the old, beige linoleum under his feet, until-

Oh.

_Oh._

That was…a new feeling.

As the washing machine switched to the spin cycle, he was suddenly aware of a sort of…pleasant jostling against his legs and…other places. Very pleasant. _Surprisingly_ pleasant. For a washing machine, anyway. Enough to make his face start to turn pink and draw his attention away from both his phone and the linoleum.

He pressed his hand against the corner of the machine between his legs, anchoring himself there. Sure, he could get down off the thing, but he didn’t want to run the risk of the damn latch breaking for good. Yeah, that was the only reason…

That and…well, the _pleasant jostling_ was starting to get a little more than just _pleasant._

He bit his lip and let his eyes flutter closed.

God, was he ever glad that Linhardt was asleep, because he didn’t think he could go on living if anyone – even his boyfriend – saw him like this, sitting on top of a damn washing machine as it slowly but surely transformed into some kind of bulky, 200-pound sex toy.

Then he shifted his hips a bit – just getting comfortable, honest – and-

Let out a moan.

He hoped it was drowned out by the thrumming washing machine.

His knuckles turned white against the edge as he tried to hold himself steady. Wouldn’t do anyone any good for him to fall off. That would be a hell of a thing to explain to an emergency room nurse – _I fell off the washing machine while I was humping it in the middle of its spin cycle, no I don’t need a psych evaluation, please just give me an ice pack and make sure I don’t have a concussion._

A yawn caught his attention. “Caspar?”

He sat up straight as a rail, not easy to do when the spin cycle was still well underway.

Linhardt stared at him. “Did I interrupt something?”

“N-no!” he insisted. Lied. Badly. “No, I’m just, uh…ah… _ooooooh…_ ”

Linhardt blinked, and Caspar wondered what would become of him if he hopped off of the washing machine and _into_ it instead. He forced himself to look up again and found Linhardt – _barely_ – holding in a laugh.

“Uh…what was that?”

“S-spin cycle,” Caspar forced out, face so red he thought he might combust. “Kinda…nice…”

“I can see that.” 

Mercy. Please.

“Well I can’t – _nh_ – the latch…”

“Uh-huh. The latch.” Linhardt had broken out into a wicked grin at some point, and that only _added_ to Caspar’s growing problem. “Please, it’s not like you’re the first person in the world to think vibrations feel good. I think our ancestors figured that out before they even discovered fire.”

“What happened to your nap?”

“Just a catnap,” Linhardt breezily answered with a little shrug. “Do you want me to go so you can-“

“ _Don’t_ say finish,” Caspar begged.

“…come?”

Worse. So, so much worse.

Caspar groaned. “M’not gonna-“

“As if I’d judge you.”

“It’s a _washing machine,_ not a _vibrator!_ ”

“But it does vibrate, though, so maybe it’s close enough.”

Instead of leaving, Linhardt was slinking a little closer, smiling easily as his hand brushed Caspar’s knee. “So… _do_ you want me to go?” His fingers traced up the inside of Caspar’s thigh, touch so light that it was almost drowned out by the rhythmic rocking of the washing machine under his legs. “Because if you’re stuck here anyway, I could try to help you out a bit.”

“Help…me out?”

“Mhm…make your little _problem_ better. Well, worse first, I guess. _Then_ better.”

“Linhardt.”

“Yes?”

“Are you saying you want to fuck me on the damn washing machine?”

“You said it, not me.”

It felt ridiculous – _beyond_ ridiculous – sitting there with the washing machine still whirring underneath him while Linhardt leaned between his legs. Caspar should have seen this coming, in a way. Linhardt always got frisky when he woke up from a nap. Same went for _catnaps,_ it seemed.

Not that Caspar could really complain much. Linhardt’s lips found Caspar’s neck, brushing along his jaw, and Caspar managed a shaky grin. “You’re really serious about this, huh?”

“I’m always serious when it comes to getting you off. You know that.” His fingers were toying with the hem of Caspar’s sweatpants, dipping inside just enough to trace the top inch or two of the trail of fuzz just below his belly button.

“What’s gotten into you/” Caspar asked with a chuckle, and Linhardt sighed.

“Truth be told, I was already feeling horny when I went to nap. I _was_ coming in here to ask if you wanted to have sex after you moved the blankets to the dryer, but…” His fingers moved lower, pressing under the elastic of Caspar’s boxers. “Well, suffice to say, this just saves us a trip from here to the bedroom.”

Just as he said it, his fingers found their mark, pressing deftly up against Caspar’s slick flesh with _just_ the right amount of pressure to make him let out another moan. Louder this time. Embarrassingly so. “Lin,” he sighed, “If you have a secret laundry kink…you have to tell me, ya know.”

Linhardt huffed out a laugh against his neck. “It’s not a kink.”

“Are you sure?”

“I just like seeing you _flustered,_ ” he insisted, as his meticulous strokes made Caspar’s toes curl in his socks. “Whether it’s me doing it, or a washing machine with a bad latch.”

“Gotta admit, kinda prefer you.”

“Mm…me too.” He kissed the shell of Caspar’s ear. “Should I go inside?”

Part of Caspar wondered if he looked a little _too_ eager, spreading his legs as enthusiastically as he did while the washing machine thumped away underneath him. Like maybe _he_ was the one with the laundry kink. Hell, maybe he’d develop one after this. But he was too worked up to care. “Yeah,” he said instead. “Yeah, inside’s good. Inside’s great.”

He could count on one hand the number of times Linhardt had topped him. More often than not, he was content to lie back and let Caspar do most of the hard work, doing his part by pushing his hips down to meet Caspar's thrusts and gasping out endless praises. He was a textbook pillow princess (a term Linhardt himself had taught him not long after they’d started dating, and he wore it with pride), but there was something else in him too. A playful, teasing streak that showed its head once in a blue moon. Something that made him press Caspar down on the bed or couch (or washing machine, apparently), and thrust into him long and slow and _deep_ enough to make Caspar feel like he was dying. In a good way.

Now was no exception. His fingers parted his folds and slid inside easily, curling just the right way to make Caspar bite his lip and groan, and _oh_ – he swore he could still feel a bit of that lovely vibration hitting him as Linhardt’s thumb pressed up against his swollen cock.

“ _Fuck,_ Lin,” he sighed, calves squeezing against Linhardt’s hip bones as Linhardt sank further between his legs. As far as he could until he hit the edge of the washing machine at least. Right. Washing machine. Because they were fucking on top of their _washing machine._

How was he supposed to do laundry ever again after this?

He didn’t know and he didn’t care.

His fingers curled against Linhardt’s shirt, bunching it up around his shoulders as he let out a whine. “Good,” Linhardt sighed. “That’s good. I like hearing how worked up you are.” Caspar swore he could _hear_ the smile sneaking onto his face. “Even if it is kind of drowned out by the spin cycle.”

“Sh-shut _up._ ”

“Mm, fine. Just as long as _you_ keep making noises.”

“No. Don’t – don’t actually…” He groaned. “Lin, keep talking. Please…”

“It’s okay,” Linhardt said as he kissed Caspar’s jaw, meeting his rocking hips with a deft curl of his fingers. He dropped his voice low, a tone that Caspar swore he only ever heard when they were in bed and thoroughly wrapped up in each other: “I know what you mean, big boy.”

The moan that clawed its way out of Caspar’s throat was nothing short of _mortifying,_ but he could live with that. Especially when Linhardt was doing something so good with his hands that it should have been illegal in at least a few states. “Lin…oh, god…I’m…”

“Close?”

“Mmhm…” His lip caught between his teeth, legs pinning Linhardt so tightly that they quivered against his hips.

“Think you can come for me?”

“Mmmhmmmm…”

“Go on then,” Linhardt said with a kiss to Caspar’s cheek so tender that it really didn’t have any place in the middle of something like this. “Come for me, king.”

Caspar did, nails dragging across Linhardt’s shirt and legs hugging his hips as he muffled a groan into his shoulder. It was a hot and deep and aching kind of pleasure that sparked down to the tips of his toes, making them curl even as it started to recede again.

And right on time, the machine went quiet, and then-

_Beeeep!_

Linhardt snorted out a laugh against Caspar’s neck, gingerly removing his fingers and stroking across Caspar’s thigh. “You always did have surprisingly good timing,” he said, and all Caspar could hum in reply. His whole body was buzzing, his bones feeling like rubber as Linhardt helped him down onto his feet again.

Meanwhile, Linhardt’s lips barely left Caspar’s neck.

“Think you can manage another round in a minute?” he asked, and it was easy to notice the bulge in Linhardt’s pants as he pressed forward against Caspar’s hip. “Maybe in bed this time?”

Caspar managed a smirk. “I think so.”

With shaky hands, he tugged the comforter out of the washer and tossed it into the dryer before taking Linhardt’s hand and following him to the bedroom.

**Author's Note:**

> After the dryer is done Caspar grabs the comforter and wraps Linhardt up in the coziest, toastiest post-coital blanket burrito imaginable.


End file.
